


A Dangerous Act Of Cruelty

by Cabbagiez



Series: The Seax [2]
Category: High Noon Over Camelot - The Mechanisms (Album), The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Arguing, Churches & Cathedrals, Crying, Flashbacks, Galahad Deserves Better, Galahad needs a hug, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Insults, Panic Attacks, Pre-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Threats
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-19 03:20:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29744202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cabbagiez/pseuds/Cabbagiez
Summary: Galahad carefully swept the central room of the building he called a church, glancing out the window to see Camelot bathed in darkness. He supposed he must be the only one left awake, but that was alright with him. He got his best, most personal work done during these times- when the whole world was at rest, he was copying down his holy book to help spread it amongst the folk here. Or he was cleaning, cooking for himself- after his time in the wastes he ate whenever he was hungry, regardless of when he had eaten last -or all sorts of other things. And, importantly, Galahad was alone throughout.Or so he thought.Gawain confronts Galahad in the middle of the night over something from his past. An action the preacher does not take kindly to.
Series: The Seax [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2184738
Comments: 3
Kudos: 9





	A Dangerous Act Of Cruelty

**Author's Note:**

> It'll make more sense if you read the first one first, but it won't be too drastically confusing!

Galahad carefully swept the central room of the building he called a church, glancing out the window to see Camelot bathed in darkness. He supposed he must be the only one left awake, but that was alright with him. He got his best, most personal work done during these times- when the whole world was at rest, he was copying down his holy book to help spread it amongst the folk here. Or he was cleaning, cooking for himself- after his time in the wastes he ate whenever he was hungry, regardless of when he had eaten last -or all sorts of other things. And, importantly, Galahad was _alone_ throughout.

Or so he thought. A mighty clattering came from one of the internal rooms- _My room,_ he noted with a hitched breath. Suppressing his urge to call out to the noise, the preacher man stilled entirely. Whoever or whatever it was would find him eventually after all. No sense in making it easier. Galahad briefly found himself regretting his policy of never carrying a weapon while inside his church, clutching the broom closer and willing himself to forget the memories of younger, tear-filled repentance and pain that the approaching sound of footsteps dredged up. He could confront dangers of the past later- it was the danger of the present that held his attention. He trained his eyes on the doorway, Galahad’s breath all but silent as he waited. The footsteps grew louder, until eventually someone showed themselves.

It was Gawain. Mouth half-cocked in a mix of grimace and grin, looking around like he was stalking prey. He smelled of whiskey, but the precision of his movements proved that wasn’t the main influencer for his presence. This was a decision made in his full mind. Galahad’s mouth dried as he saw two very important things. One, Gawain’s piece, ready and primed in its holster. Two, Galahad’s own knife. In the other man’s hands. And, when he saw the preacher, his face went from tracking to _hunting._ A snarling expression of hatred that caught Galahad completely off guard. Sure, they didn’t get along, but he had just figured it was an issue of him being an outsider. He was ashamed to admit he was frightened, terrified out of his wits. He didn’t speak, so Gawain did for him.

“The _hell_ do you call this, preacher man?” He demanded, stomping forward and shaking the Seax at him.

“I believe it’s a Seax,” Galahad replied, keeping his voice level. Anything that kept that gun away. 

“Don’t get smart with me,” Gawain growled. “Where’d you _get_ it? You ain’t one of _them,_ are you?”

“I ain’t a Saxon, if that’s what you’re asking,” Galahad said. He swallowed hard. “I’d set that down, son, if I were you. It belongs to _me._ ”

“What’cha gonna do about it, preacher man?” Gawain jeered. A painful realization struck Galahad. The other was _enjoying_ this. Enjoying the fear he was inflicting. 

“I could scream,” he said, “I could scream as loud as I could, and you could explain to the whole town why the hell you broke into _my_ church, stole _my_ knife, and threatened me.”

“But you won’t,” Gawain said. He wasn’t quite certain. Silence fell for a moment, before he redoubled his questioning. “ _Why_ do you have it?” 

“That is none of your business, son, and frankly I don’t appreciate your tone. I do detest violence, but you ain’t exactly assuring me you won’t strike. If you do, I will fight back.”

“With a _broom?_ ”

“With a broom,” Galahad agreed. He would lose, of course, but the scuffle would announce that something was wrong. If it came to that, he was willing. 

“Or you could answer me,” Gawain replied, hand resting on his gun. 

“If the Saxon who gave me that while I was dying in the wastes- along with food and _pure_ water -had done nothing, I would be long gone, son. I owe them my life.”

“Maybe you oughta repay your debt,” the man sneered. “ _Liar._ You just don’t wanna taint your saintly image! You think you’re so much _better_ than us, cuz you can _read_ , and for some fuckin’ reason all of ‘em _like you._ You’ve suckered everyone in with your peace and love shtick, even tricked Mordred, but I don’t buy it.”

“Put down the knife, and leave,” Galahad demanded. He was getting sick of this, enough so he had forgotten his fear. It was one thing to threaten him, it was another entirely to imply he was here out of _any_ malicious intent.

“I ain’t done talking to you!” 

“Believe me, son, I have heard more than enough.”

“You _disgust_ me, preacher man,” Gawain snarled, “You sonovabitch. One day the world’s gonna catch up to you, and you’re gonna _face_ the consequences.” 

“Hm,” Galahad replied, “Wonder which one of us the Almighty will side with.” Then, in a more severe tone, he repeated, “Put _down_ the knife, and leave.”

“Fine,” Gawain conceded, dropping the knife without care. “I don’t wanna touch a Ghoul blade anymore. But I’m tellin’ Arthur!”

“You do that, son, and I will explain exactly how you came to know this information,” was the preacher man’s measured response. “You’re free to make your choice, now you know the consequences. We’ll see whose side he takes.”

Gawain stormed out without a word, and Galahad’s legs buckled under him. Pulling himself into a pew, he let out a choked, fearful sob- letting loose all the emotions he hadn’t given Gawain the satisfaction of seeing. His body ached with no cause as his mind flashed through reeds, rulers, sizzling metal, bullets _kniveshandsclawswhips-_

He balled his hands, shaking them in front of his chest and pushing himself into a rocking motion. It was hard, but he managed to force himself out of the thought loop. Taking shaky breaths, Galahad uncurled. 

* * *

No sleep was had that night, or the next. When asked what was wrong, he had answered noncommittally- claiming he was simply feeling ill. Galahad told no one, not even Merlin, of what had transpired, fearing the repercussions of a situation where it was his word against Gawain’s. But the knowledge of such a dangerous act of cruelty weighed heavy on the preacher man’s mind. If Gawain had behaved this way towards an innocent man, how might he treat the true subject of his ire?

For everyone’s sake, Galahad hoped they would never find out.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little shorter than the first work in this series, I got hit with inspiration and pumped it out! I hope y'all enjoyed!


End file.
